


you can never know (the places that I go)

by aceofjapan



Series: YOI Angst Week 2020 [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (not between victuuri), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Communication, Don't copy to another site, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Victor Nikiforov, Rape Recovery, Who knew?, YOI Angst Week 2020, canonverse, soulmate dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofjapan/pseuds/aceofjapan
Summary: Every person on the planet has a soulmate, romantic, platonic or familial.From the moment the younger one is born, both of them will only dream the other's dreams, until they finally find each other.The dreams can give you an insight into your soulmate's life and mind, filtered through their subconscious: no concrete facts, of course, but you can get an idea of your soulmate‘s emotional state, of the kind of thoughts, worries and wishes that occupy them, of what kind of a person they are.Depending on whether someone has very vivid and specific or rather vague and indistinct dreams, they might help you identify who your soulmate is, or they might not give you any kind of information at all.All that Victor knows about his soulmate is that they like skating and dance and they may possibly have a dog.He's not been able to find out anything more specific.That is, until the nightmares start.--Written for YOI Angst Week 2020 Day 2 - Recovery
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Original Male Character(s), Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: YOI Angst Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044462
Comments: 91
Kudos: 204
Collections: YOI Angst Week 2020





	1. you keep me up at night

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for Day 2 of YOI Angst Week: **Recovery**.
> 
> Thank you to [FromTheInsideOut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheInsideOut/pseuds/FromTheInsideOut) for helping me figure this fic out!
> 
> About the tags: I think they should be complete or at least nothing major should be added now, but the last few chapters aren't written yet, so until I'm sure I wanted to leave myself the option of adding things. The fic will update every other Tuesday 💜
> 
> Check out the Angst Week Collection as well as [twitter](http://twitter.com/yoiangstweek) and [tumblr](http://yoiangstweek.tumblr.com/) to see more amazing AW works!

  


Victor can‘t move.

His limbs are heavy as if of lead, weighed down, stuck to the indeterminate surface he is lying on. No matter how he wills his muscles to flex, his body to resist the heaviness pulling it down, they will not obey.

He is helpless.

He feels touches on his skin and a wave of disgust welling up in him immediately, choking him.

He wants to scream.

There is silence.

Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, he can‘t breathe.

Pain and heat washing through his body. 

All he can see is red and red and red.

There‘s the sharp sensation of a hand clamping firmly, painfully over his mouth, and Victor shoots up in his bed, wide awake.

His hands are clawing desperately at his face, but there‘s nothing there, no too big, hard, calloused hand bruising his cheeks and trapping his screams inside his mouth.

Victor draws in big, harsh gasps of air.

Another dream.

No matter how long it‘s been, Victor cannot get used to this. These heavy, drowning dreams that are pulling him under more nights than not. 

They leave him clammy with sweat every time, breathing heavily and close to tears.

At least this one was one of the less graphic ones, mostly sensory impressions; feeling and sound. He‘s had worse, ones where every detail was drawn out in crisp lines, leaving him dizzy with nausea when he woke up. Those were the worst.

This one… this one was oppressive but mostly bearable. He might even be able to get back to sleep.

After five years of being ripped out of his sleep by these violent dreams, Victor had developed certain mechanisms to cope with them. Had found techniques to get back to sleep if they woke him up in the middle of the night, to shake off their vestiges if they woke him up in the morning.

Nonetheless, he never got quite used to them. He wasn‘t sure if it was possible to get at all used to dreams like these.

His dreams hadn‘t always been like this. He remembered a time when his dreams had been normal, forgettable things. Not always peaceful; there had been nightmares sometimes, the way that everyone sometimes had, he supposed, and a fair share of worry dreams where he forgot something crucial or was running late to an important appointment. Interspersed with this had been strange nonsense dreams and soft happy dreams featuring faceless people whose sight filled him with fondness and on numerous occasions the fluffy, affectionate presence of a small but featureless dog.

Just a mixture of the kind of dreams any person would have. A healthy mix of uncomfortable and pleasant and just plain weird.

But then, one morning, the day after the World Championship, the last one where Victor had taken silver, he had woken up in a cold sweat, shaking and nauseous, staring at the red ceiling of his hotel room with wide eyes. 

The dream had stuck with him throughout the day, holding on to his limbs with clammy tendrils, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and trying to avoid other people as much as he possibly could. But he didn't think anything much of it. Just a nightmare, he told himself.

Until it happened again.

And again.

And again.

After a few solid months of dreaming some variation of the same dream over and over, Victor was resigned to the fact that they would stick around for a while.

They made him feel jumpy and withdrawn during the worst days, sometimes merely vaguely uncomfortable, and some days he shook them off entirely, forgetting about them as soon as he set foot outside of his bed. 

To him, they were just this: dreams. They hadn‘t really happened; no one had touched him, no one had hurt him. There weren‘t any bruises pressed into his skin where rough hands had grabbed him, no painful, searing tears in his intimate regions.

They affected him only in the way that dreams would sometimes affect you; leaving you with a certain lingering feeling, an unshakeable desire to cry, a bad mood.

But there was always a certain distance between him and the dreams; the experiences within them didn‘t feel personal to him.

Because they weren‘t.

But sometimes, as Victor went about his day, his heart ached with the almost certain knowledge that, at one point at least, these dreams had been a reality for his soulmate.

* * *

While no one was quite sure how or why soulmates and soulmate dreams existed, they had been empirically proven to be real.

Every person on the planet had a soulmate, romantic or platonic, or at least to date no case of someone being unpaired had been recorded. Soulmates could be of different ages, speaking different languages, living on opposite ends of the world. There was no guarantee that two soulmates would even meet throughout the course of their lives.

But from the moment the younger of the two was born, the two soulmates shared a connection, something deep-rooted and inexplicable. A sense of kinship, an emotional bond of sorts.

The most obvious way in which this manifested was the fact that soulmates would share their dreams. From the moment the bond was forged, a person would dream only their soulmate‘s dreams. Like this, they could get an insight into their life and mind, filtered through their subconscious: no concrete facts, of course, but they could get an idea of their soulmate‘s emotional state, of the kind of thoughts, worries and wishes that occupied them, of what kind of a person they were.

Depending on whether someone had very vivid and specific or rather vague and indistinct dreams, they might help you identify who your soulmate was, or they might not give you any kind of information at all.

The only known way, however, to confirm whether or not someone was your soulmate, was to sleep in the same bed as them. Or that had been the assumption for the longest time of human history, though modern research had concluded that this area could be expanded to the same room.

Whenever two soulmates slept in the same room together, they would each dream their own dreams, encounter their own impressions and experiences in their rest. This was true even if only one of them slept.

Beyond this, there were other indications of course that someone might be your soulmate—a certain compatibility in emotion and personality, an instant attraction (physical, emotional, platonic or a combination thereof), an enhanced sense of empathy. But none of them were quite as hard and fast as soulmate dreams were.

As far as Victor could tell, he had only ever dreamed his soulmate‘s dreams. At least he couldn‘t recall a single one that had been identifiably his own. 

His soulmate‘s dreams had always been very vivid in emotion and impression, though not very distinctly visual. Still Victor was able to tell with some certainty quite soon that his soulmate was someone from another culture, judging by the strange language that often appeared in his dreams. Them being dreams and the details slipping away from Victor as soon as he woke up meant he had never been able to hold on to enough of it to identify which language it was, but he had confirmed with other people whose soulmates were Russian that they could actually understand what was being spoken in their dreams sometimes.

Victor was also fairly sure that his soulmate was also a skater, or at the very least a big fan of it, judging by the amount the ice featured in his dreams. In his teens, he would often have very repetitive dreams where he‘d circle on the ice, repeating the same actions and moves over and over and over again, as if his soulmate‘s daytime habits just bled over into his dreams. 

He wondered often if his soulmate was having the same sorts of dreams on their own end.

But at the end of the day, he didn‘t spend too much time thinking about them. Not only were his own skating ambitions keeping his thoughts occupied every minute of every day from a young age, the fact that they were both skaters gave Victor a kind of bone-deep reassurance that they were destined to meet sooner or later, through the ice.

It gave him just one more justification to sacrifice his entire life to his chase after gold medals—after all, the further he went and the more successful he became, the easier it would be for his soulmate to find him, right?

It wasn‘t until his recurring nightmares began and didn‘t give any sign of letting up for the next several months that Victor started to really look into soulmates, into soulmate dreams and dreams in general.

Waking up from a particularly bad iteration of ever the same dream, one where he could still feel the ghost of a touch on his skin after he woke up, where he couldn‘t stop shaking even after he pulled Makkachin close, he‘d clicked on his lights and opened his laptop and googled recurring dreams. 

The answer, of course, wasn‘t clear cut. It turned out that recurring dreams were something that the majority of people experienced, although it seemed they usually dealt with somewhat more commonplace themes, like finding out you hadn‘t studied for a test, being stuck or unable to run away from something or, bizarrely, losing your teeth. All of these were definitely dreams that Victor had had at some point prior to these last few months, but with nowhere near the same frequency.

And it didn‘t seem to be usual for them to appear so often—if not every night then at least more than half the nights of any given week.

Nightmares as a symptom of PTSD, however… that seemed to be quite a different issue.

The bottom line was that Victor couldn‘t be sure that the dreams he witnessed so often were based on an experience that his soulmate actually lived through, or if so, if that experience had been the same as his dreams now were. There was, however, a rather distinct possibility that what Victor‘s instinct had told him when the nightmares had first started was true. 

That he was reliving the moment his soulmate was raped over and over again in his dreams.

Victor wasn‘t quite sure why he put so much effort into finding out—it wasn‘t like he could change it, like he could think his way out of those dreams.

He couldn‘t get any treatment to help work through the trauma, he couldn‘t use any of the techniques he found online to redirect or break out of recurring dreams.

They weren‘t his dreams to begin with.

All he could do was either live with them, or stop sleeping all together. 

But perhaps it was his attempt at gaining some kind of control over the situation, a situation that left him feeling so helpless as he never had before. 

Victor was the kind of person to tackle any problem he encountered head on, the chip away at it and work through it until it resolved itself or burst under the sheer force of his relentlessness. 

At this point in his life, the feeling of being stuck was not yet familiar to him, at least not for any length of time.

But here there was nothing he could do.

Nothing he could do to change what had happened to his soulmate.

Nothing he could do to help them feel better, support them, comfort them.

His only solace was the knowledge that, since Victor was the one experiencing these dreams, at least his soulmate didn‘t have to live through them themselves.

It was a small solace, but it was a solace nonetheless, one that almost made him wish he wouldn‘t meet his soulmate for a few years yet, not until the trauma had faded with time or been processed enough that the dreams let up. 

Just so that his soulmate would never have to experience them.

It was another good justification to focus all his attention on his skating career, taking him to new heights. 

Except the dreams didn‘t fade. 

The years passed and Victor soared and still he was woken by nightmares.

They decreased somewhat in frequency—sometimes, if he was lucky, he might go a whole week without one of them—but never in intensity. 

It made him worry about his soulmate‘s safety, sometimes. But it was a passing thought, one that he dismissed soon, because these things took time. And besides, it wasn‘t like he could do anything to help them. He would just have to wait.

And in the meantime, he had enough to think about anyway. The ice was always waiting, and there were gold medals to be won.

* * *

The first time that Victor had seen Katsuki Yuuri skate, it was at a Grand Prix Qualifier, and it was beautiful.

Katsuki was flying over the ice with a frantic, restless energy, twisting and spinning, a fast pace that Victor couldn‘t look away from. 

He skated to the [first movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgbkvaLy3Lg) of Vivaldi’s winter, and he did it perfectly in time with the music. He incorporated the haste of the violins perfectly, the mounting sense of doom that culminated into something beautiful, a rush that encapsulated the melody like Victor had never seen it before.

Watching him, Victor felt a strange sense of kinship, a strange familiarity. He felt like he had experienced the emotion Katsuki was portraying a hundred times before, but when he tried to pinpoint a specific instance, he came up empty. 

Katsuki skated clean and his PCS was excellent, but he only had a single quad and it was not used for maximum effect. It was enough, in the end, to win him bronze below Chris and Georgi, but combined with his fourth place finish in his first qualifier, it wasn‘t enough to get him into the Final.

Still, Victor thought, rewatching the program a few times once a recording had been uploaded to Youtube, it was an impressive effort—the musicality, the fluidity, and that beautiful expressiveness, like Vivaldi‘s violins gave an insight right into Katsuki‘s own mind.

Victor thought of the program a couple more times throughout the rest of the season, took another look at it even when he was working on making his own step sequence sharper, cleaner, quicker.

Sometimes when he woke up from oppressive, chafing dreams, he found himself looking up Vivaldi‘s Winter in his music app. He wasn‘t entirely sure why, but it soothed something in him.

But he didn‘t think about Katsuki himself, didn’t look up his performance at 4CC, didn‘t keep an eye out for him at Worlds. He wasn‘t any kind of threat to Victor and his title, so he slipped out of his mind again smoothly.

Until one year later, at the next Grand Prix Final in Sochi, when he saw Katsuki again on the ice. It was almost like a déja vu—there he was again, flying over the eyes in perfect frantic energy, every movement expressing haste and frustration. Except this time he wasn‘t skating to Vivaldi.

This time, his music was a soft, instrumental piece from some movie soundtrack, meant to evoke beauty and serenity, a soft, dreamlike quality. 

Which was nowhere to be found.

Katsuki fell on almost every jump, and while his spins were still tight and fast and his step sequences sharp and clean, they were so at odds with the music that it hardly mattered.

Victor didn‘t wait around to hear the scores, returning to his warm-up instead. He knew it wouldn‘t be good. He felt a pang of sympathy for the boy, clearly a talented skater, but too weak under pressure. The frustration, the hurt was sitting plainly on his face when he left the ice. Maybe he would have better luck at Worlds.

Thirty-six hours later, Katsuki Yuuri had become so much more than that skater with the beautiful step sequences.

He had become something deeper and richer, something that suddenly felt so essential to Victor and his entire being.

It was silly—it had been one night of drunken dancing, one beautiful, sparkling, shining night… but Victor felt lost and found both at once.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Victor‘s dreams were completely at odds with his elation, with the buzzing excitement he felt under his skin. Not just the recurring nightmares, but the other dreams, too, were dark, lingering things, featuring death and destruction and humiliation. They left him with a heavy sadness or an anxious jitter in the morning, but these unreal, essentially baseless feelings couldn‘t long persist against the fizzing infatuation bubbling in his blood, and by the time he left for the rink in the morning, the smile would be back on his face. 

As the weeks passed, however, and he still didn‘t hear anything from Yuuri, no text, no call, not even a blip on social media, and his hope at… whatever his hope had been, at some change, a new relationship, a whirlwind romance, began to falter, he began to rather find himself in those heavy dreams. Could identify with those feelings of being stuck and useless and unlovable a little too well, to the point where he found himself wondering if perhaps he had started dreaming his own dreams again without realising it. 

The thought, when it first occurred to him, made his breath stick in his throat, because the only way for this to happen without being physically with his soulmate was if his soulmate had died. 

And the thought that even the one person on the planet that was destined for him without a doubt was not around any longer was almost too much to bear.

It was only a few days before Victor had the familiar recurring nightmare again, reassuring him that his soulmate was indeed still around, but the incident was enough to make him think that perhaps it was time for him to try and find them.

He had no idea how to go about it, but the thought made the notion of carrying on skating which had become so loathsome to him a little easier to stomach. 

It was enough to carry him through Europeans and Worlds and to another gold medal, anyway. But though he tried to pay attention to his competitors in hopes of figuring out if one of them might be his soulmate, he didn‘t know where to start, and the impenetrable shroud of Victor Nikiforov, Living Legend, made it nigh impossible to get close enough to anyone to see if he might have a connection with them.

He hadn‘t really felt connected to anyone in years—well, no one but Katsuki Yuuri, but he, it turned out, had flunked out of the second half of the season and was not present at Worlds.

And their so-called connection had clearly been one-sided, as Victor had to find out the hard way.

So he returned home after one more gold medal, still without a soulmate, still without any word from Katsuki Yuuri, back into an apartment that was empty and lifeless, except for the soothing presence of Makkachin. 

He wasn‘t quite sure where to go from there.

But then someone—a lot of someones— sent Victor a link to a video.


	2. sometimes i think it's getting better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the incredible response to the first chapter! ❤  
> I was really overwhelmed by that. I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story as well!

Victor hadn‘t actually intended to fall asleep right there in the common room of the Yu-topia onsen. He wasn‘t quite sure why Yuuri was so shocked by his arrival, but after he got out of the hot springs, he decided to give Yuuri some time to get used to the thought of it.

So rather than seeking him out, wherever he had run off to, Victor, in his comfortable green robes that he had gotten from the onsen, wandered into the dining room for some food and Makkachin‘s company.

That the rich, delicious food, his dog‘s warm presence beside him and the exhaustion from long hours of travel would weigh on his limbs, so comfortably heavy that he slipped into sleep right there on the floor—that had not been part of his plan.

He didn‘t even really realise it had happened until murmuring voices in Japanese slowly roused him from the comforting warmth of a pleasant dream, a dream of bright colours and gleeful movement, a dream of music and dancing, fondness and a zing of arousal.

He was almost sorry to feel it go, feel it recede back into the depth of his subconscious—almost. Because one of the voices that was speaking was doubtless Yuuri‘s, even though Victor couldn‘t understand a word of it. And if there was one thing that must be better than dreaming of Yuuri, it was being with Yuuri in reality.

It took a little while for him to put two and two together.

Once he was properly awake, and fed (once again), and settling into what would be his room from now on.

Yuuri was still so reticent, keeping a careful distance, and his words… well. If the video of Yuuri skating Stammi Vicino hadn‘t called out to him so clearly, Victor might have thought his presence here was unwelcome.

There was a familiar frantic quality to the way Yuuri kept his distance from Victor, the way he tried to accommodate Victor and make him comfortable while at the same time keeping that impenetrable wall between them that reeked of customer service.

The way that Yuuri kept running away.

It was nothing like Yuuri at the banquet, the Yuuri that had been populating his memories for the last months, the Yuuri that he had just had the pleasure of encountering again in his dreams.

And there it was.

Running over Victor like a cold shower right where he was kneeling on the tatami mats of his room, hand still outstretched to touch a Yuuri that had once again scrambled away from him.

He had dreamed of Yuuri.

Just then, as he was sleeping in the dining room, he had been dancing, twirling, had been held and dipped and—…

It had clearly been his own memories, his own perceptions that had coloured that dream.

He had dreamed his own dream.

And yes, technically there had been other people in the room with him as he had slept but… there was no doubt in Victor‘s mind in that moment.

Yuuri was his soulmate.

The knowledge swept over him with glowing warmth, elating him with the knowledge that this was right where he was supposed to be, right where he belonged. With his soulmate, his Yuuri.

It wasn‘t until he opened his mouth to share the happy news with the man in question, that beautiful, contradictory man, who was still pressed back against a wall, staring at him with wide eyes, that he fully realised what this meant.

The contrast of his own dream just now, soft and warm and full of comfort, with the dreams he had dreamed for the last few weeks and the last few months and the last years and years and years sinking into his bones.

His smile and his words died on his lips.

Thankfully, it was not difficult to pretend at tiredness and get Yuuri to leave him and Makkachin to their own devices for the night. No, Yuuri seemed about just as eager in that moment to get away from Victor as Victor was to see him leave—and wasn‘t that just breaking his heart, considering he‘d spent every day of the last four months wishing he had some way of getting closer to him.

But Victor needed—he needed time to wrap his mind around this. He needed to understand. He needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

As soon as Yuuri had retreated into his own room with a hasty goodnight, Victor pushed himself up from his kneeling position, closed the shoji and began mechanically moving boxes, stacking them from where they were scattered around the room to one side, against the wall—the wall between his and Yuuri‘s room.

When he had cleared the space around the bed, leaving only the suitcase he had traveled with, he settled on the mattress, where Makkachin immediately joined him.

Absently running his fingers through her fur, Victor stared at the wall of boxes he had created, wondering if it was enough.

He knew perfectly well that wasn’t how it worked, but still he wondered.

He and Yuuri were in separate rooms. That was all that counted.

It didn‘t matter that some of the walls of Victor‘s room were made of paper. They were walls nonetheless. They were separate rooms nonetheless.

As close as science could define a phenomenon as inexact as soulmate dreams, it seemed that the defining factor in whether two soulmates were in the same room was a doorway.

If there was a doorway between them, they would dream one another‘s dreams. If there wasn‘t, they would dream their own. It didn‘t matter if the door was open or closed—in the same way that people forgot what they were doing when they moved through doorways, over thresholds, soulmate dreams reverted when one soulmate moved through a door.

Yuuri had just crossed not one but two doorways—from Victor‘s room into the hall, from the hall into his own bedroom.

It should be safe enough to assume that he would not dream his own dreams tonight. And if he did, then no amount of boxes stacked on the wall between their rooms would change it.

Still, staring at the wall of cardboard made Victor feel a little better.

At least enough that he could try and think calmly about what he had just realised.

Katsuki Yuuri was his soulmate.

He had been dreaming Katsuki Yuuri‘s dreams his whole life.

On the one hand, it wasn‘t hard to believe. There had been plenty of skating and dancing in his dreams throughout the years.

There was a good handful of times where he been almost sure upon waking that the person he had just encountered in his dreams had been himself, distorted and featureless though the dreamworld had rendered him. It had always made him wonder if his soulmate was a skating fan.

And then his dream the night after the banquet in Sochi… it had been indistinct and blurred in a way that, looking back on it, must suggest drunkenness. But he had woken up in the morning feeling the same way he had felt falling asleep at night, and that was a rarity for him. He and Yuuri had dreamed of the same thing that night, he was sure of that.

On the other hand, however… he didn’t quite want to believe it.

Not because he didn’t want Yuuri as his soulmate, of course, nothing would thrill him more.

If it weren’t for those dreams.

Those dreams he’d had ever since the World Championship six years ago, that World Championship that—God.

Scrambling to the other end of the bed, Victor hurried to grab his phone off the nightstand, startling Makkachin in the process.

“Sorry, girl”, he whispered as he unlocked his phone screen and hurriedly looked up Yuuri’s Wikipedia page.

Worlds 2011… yes, there it was. Yuuri had been there. His first year in seniors, his ranking had been way further down of course, but he had been sent as one of Japan’s representatives.

Victor swallowed around the lump in his throat.

Was that when it had happened? He could really only guess, but after that weekend the nightmares had started. Victor remembered it vividly, remembered—…

With a gasp, he dropped his phone, which landed on the mattress with a dull thud.

He remembered waking up in a cold sweat staring at the red ceiling in his hotel room. That very specific shade of sickly red, which no one should ever have used to paint anything, let alone a ceiling that was the first thing you saw when you woke up.

He remembered thinking that he had seen that same ceiling in his dream, a reason why he felt so nauseatingly uncertain at first if it really had been only a dream.

Later on he told himself he must have misremembered, just his mind mixing together the dreaming and the waking world.

But now… had Yuuri been in that same hotel, under the same roof as Victor, staring at that same disgusting red ceiling?

By God—Victor ran both hands through his hair, tearing at the strand, trying to fight down a wave of nausea—Yuuri had been seventeen years old.

Just a kid, his first time at a major international seniors competition, and—

In the meantime Victor had been flying high after his silver and at the same time there had been that burning need under his skin, that itching for _just a little more, just a little further_.

It would be the last major competition he’d place below the top spot for a long, long time. Right up until now, actually.

Now Victor was here, and…

He wondered what Yuuri was dreaming right now. What was Victor‘s own subconscious occupied with now? What had Yuuri‘s dreams been like in the last few months?

Earlier, in the dining room, Victor had dreamt of the banquet—had that been a recurring feature of his dreams, or had it just been because he‘d just met Yuuri again?

Had Yuuri been dreaming of the banquet, of himself, all this time?

Victor knew how difficult it was to really identify faces, people, in dreams. At least it was for him. The people in his dreams were always kind of featureless and indistinct, more of a feeling, an impression rather than a recognisable person. Sometimes there might be one or two distinct features like a hairstyle or type of clothing, but faces were always kind of blurry.

He didn‘t know if his own dreams were the same. During his nap earlier, there hadn‘t really been any clear visuals that he could recall after he woke up, but he had known just instinctively that it had been Yuuri who held him, that it had been the banquet room that they danced in. A knowledge that was supplied to his brain automatically without needing any indication in the actual dream.

This, he knew from his research on soulmate dreams as well, was something that was normal when dreaming your own dreams. You could see someone looking like one person and at the same time know they were supposed to be someone completely different. You could find yourself in what you knew was your grandparents‘ living room, even though it didn‘t share any actual features with its real-life counterpart.

This kind of knowledge was lacking when you were dreaming your soulmate‘s dreams.

Knowing that… was it still possible that Yuuri had recognised himself in Victor‘s dreams? Or if not himself, had at least recognised the situation of the banquet, the sequence of events that become one of the most amazing nights Victor had ever had?

Had Yuuri put two and two together and figured out that Victor was his soulmate? Was that why he had been so eager to put a distance between them?

Within the privacy of his own head, Victor tried to reassure himself that even if this was the case, it surely wasn‘t because Yuuri didn‘t want him as his soulmate. Perhaps it was only that Yuuri knew, or suspected, what lurked in his own dreams, and didn‘t want to be confronted with it.

Was it possible? Did Yuuri know? Had Yuuri perhaps known all along?

Was it possible that Victor‘s dreams were distinct enough to have identified him beyond a doubt? Had Yuuri approached him at the banquet already knowing he was dancing with his soulmate?

He couldn‘t quite believe it—couldn‘t quite believe that Yuuri would dance and smile and laugh with him like that and still keep their bond a secret.

Even though he was planning on doing the same thing now.

No, he tried to reassure himself, he wasn‘t keeping their bond secret. He would tell Yuuri. He would just wait until could figure out just how to do it. Until he had a bit of a better grasp of the situation he had stumbled into, which was so different than what he had expected coming to Hasetsu.

Perhaps there was even a way he could gauge the state of Yuuri‘s mind, to find out how he would react, being confronted with his own dreams.

Yes, Victor would wait. Just for a while.

Decision made, he pushed himself up from the futon once more to turn off the lights, then slipped under the covers, pulling Makkachin close to him.

He wondered what he would dream tonight. Would it be the usual nightmare, or something else? Would he dream of himself, the way that Yuuri might also do right now? Would he get to revisit the banquet again, this time from Yuuri‘s perspective?

He didn‘t know, but he knew that finding out was inevitable, so he let his eyes slide shut.

* * *

Victor was in a hotel hallway.

It wasn‘t so much a specific hallway in a specific hotel as it was the very essence of hotel hallways, condensed in the mind of someone who had seen quite a lot of them over a number of years.

He was in a hotel hallway with Victor Nikiforov.

With a young Victor Nikiforov, long silver hair draped over his shoulders, loose, and they were talking.

They were chatting quite easily, though he couldn‘t tell for sure what about. It was something pleasant if superficial, something to do with skating for sure.

Victor Nikiforov laughed and it sounded like an interview but Victor looked at him with awe and shock and just a bit of apprehension.

After all, why would Victor Nikiforov want to talk to him? He couldn‘t possibly have anything interesting to say. But Victor spoke smoothly and evenly, for once, no hesitation or awkward pauses, just a casual conversation.

It was actually kind of fun.

They reached the door of Victor‘s room and Victor stopped, and Victor Nikiforov along with him, still in the middle of telling some anecdote or another while Victor pulled his keycard out of his pocket.

He nodded along with Victor Nikiforov‘s story, his hand resting in the door handle, smiling when Victor Nikiforov made a joke.

When the story was told, they both laughed, and as their laughter subsided there was an awkward moment after all, as they said their clumsy goodbyes and each thanked the other for the pleasant conversation.

There was a pause after everything was said, and still Victor Nikiforov seemed to linger, gazing at Victor, so Victor turned half towards his door with an uncertain smile.

And swiped his keycard.

Then everything went so fast; the door clicking open, the darkness beyond, the hand clamping over his mouth, the body crowding him back inside the room, the door being pushed closed, submerging them in the dark, the snick of the lock being turned from inside.

Then a relentless body being pressed against Victor‘s own and the sweaty hand over his mouth being replaced by wet, demanding lips.

Victor tried to shove him away, hands pushing against solid shoulders, but he didn’t budge, just circled Victor’s wrist with his hands and pressed them against the wall, squeezing painfully.

Victor wanted to scream, but there was nowhere for it to go. The sound died between lips and teeth.

* * *

Victor was already in tears when he woke up, in the middle of the night in an empty room in a strange country with no one but his dog for company, and he curled up tighter, hugged Makkachin closer and stifled his sobs against her fur.

In all his years of nightmares, Victor had never felt like this, hollowed out and burnt inside, so absolutely rotten to the core.

“I would never”, he pressed into Makkachin’s fur, breath hitching painfully, the sound swallowed by the curls, “I would never.”

He cried for long minutes, the silence oppressive around him, let himself be shaken by ugly sobs, tears and snot dripping unheeded, until Makkachin sleepily turned her head and licked at his face with a soft whine.

Her warmth, her worry broke through his crying jag, and he felt himself calm slowly, sobs subsiding, shaking fading away until that reassuring exhaustion settled over him.

Staring into the grey behind his own eyes, still catching his breath, he tried to tell himself that this dream didn’t mean Yuuri really thought him to be that kind of person.

Most likely, Yuuri’s rational, conscious mind knew that Victor would never do something so cruel and hurtful. It was just that irrational fears were what they were. Trauma was what it was.

But no matter how much he repeated it to himself, it hurt, it hurt like few things Victor had felt before, to see himself portrayed like that, violent, selfish, despicable, by his Yuuri, his _soulmate_.

It almost made him want to give up, made him want to pack up all his stuff and leave again, leave the place where he clearly wasn’t wanted, was feared, even.

But Victor had not come to be where he was in life by giving up at the first (or second, or third) sign of trouble.

He breathed deeply, focusing on Makkachin’s warmth, her faint heartbeat next to him, and tried to clear his mind, employing all those techniques he had taught himself through the years of dealing with these nightmares.

He had made it through this long. He could make it a little longer.

When he sunk back into sleep at last, it was dreamless.


	3. and then it gets much worse

The next few weeks were a long, arduous journey of uncertainty.

Victor had never felt so out of depth in his life.

He tried his best to reestablish that connection between him and Yuuri that he had felt so clearly at the banquet, but that seemed to have gotten lost along the way somehow. He tried to get to know Yuuri better, establish some tentative trust between them, as coach and student, as soulmates. He asked Yuuri to take a walk together, eat together, look at the town together, all to no avail.

Yuuri seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length.

And yet at the same time, he was nothing if not a dedicated student.

All that Yuuri wouldn’t show him as soon as he was out of his skates, all that dedication, all that passion, all that drive that Victor had seen at the banquet: it was all there on the ice, in his every movement, in his jumps, shaky though they may be.

Watching Yuuri turn his slow way on the ice late at night, carving the same figures over and over again into the surface, Victor could hear Vivaldi in his mind.

It was like something out of a dream, a deja vu.

Even through Yuri Plistetsky’s appearance, loud and brash and demanding as he always was, Yuuri—well. He didn’t keep his cool, exactly. He fidgeted, he panicked, he lost confidence. But he pulled through in the end, in a way that Victor could not have dreamed of. Didn’t dream of, quite specifically: a couple of nights before onsen on ice, he made his way through a nightmare of quite a different kind, all humiliation and disappointment at the rink, sharp derision and rejection rinkside.

Instead, Victor put his arm around Yuuri on the podium, and Yuuri didn’t flinch away.

Despite that small victory however, Yuuri was back to his old form as soon as the skates were off—a heap of excuses, avoidance, careful distance.

Victor was ready to work with that—swallowing his disappointment along with his sake in hopes that it would drown—but when it started to affect Yuuri’s practice, something had to change.

Things eased up between them after their conversation on the beach and finally, finally Victor felt like Yuuri was starting to let him in.

Not very fast or very deep, but let him in nonetheless, and as they worked on the Free Skate and prepared for the new season, as they spent more time together, even outside the rink, it got easier.

All that uncomfortable tension and awkwardness started to dissipate, and while they were still a far cry from what they had been at the banquet, Victor was starting to regain hope.

Maybe they could have… something, after all, some kind of bond as soulmates.

That was all that Victor had wanted.

This was what he had wanted.

As the summer went on, however, it became harder and harder for Victor to stick to his resolution of never letting Yuuri sleep in the same room with him. Much more frequently than he thought possible those situations cropped up, situations that Victor would have been _thrilled_ with under any other circumstances.

Yuuri dozing off in the locker room after practice while Victor was taking care of his skates, forcing him to “accidentally” bump into the lockers, the resulting crash startling Yuuri awake.

Yuuri laying down on the towel to take a nap as they went to the beach in the summer, as Victor nagged and pouted endlessly about wanting to get ice cream until Yuuri got up and went with him.

Yuuri resting his head on Victor’s shoulder as they took the train down to Fukuoka, his eyelids heavy, lips parted, face soft with drowsiness, while Victor jostled him gently every thirty seconds or so, trying to pass it off as the train bumping in its tracks.

How Victor wished he could just indulge in these soft, vulnerable moments, those moments that seemed to have so much potential to bring them closer together. It pained him every time, but he didn’t want to risk it.

Even as over the weeks his nightmares decreased in frequency, became less than Victor had ever experienced since they started. Not that they went away, not that they didn’t still clearly affect Yuuri, but they were now more frequently interspersed with dreams of the ice, of training and jumping, of the lilting, repetitive rhythm of Yuuri’s free skate music, of Makkachin, and of Victor himself. Spending most of his time with Yuuri now, it was much easier to interpret his dreams, as he had been present for most of the experiences that Yuuri’s subconscious was filtering through at night.

He knew why an octopus featured prominently in one of Yuuri’s dreams one night, he knew now why Makkachin sometimes shrunk considerably in size when she featured in the dreams, he knew the exact taste of the food that Yuuri sometimes dreamed about.

He also knew to recognise himself more often, even when he didn’t look like himself at all. An actual appearance of Victor in the flesh was rare, but he could hear his own voice repeating things he’d said to Yuuri and sometimes things he most certainly had not said. He heard the phrase “little piggy” repeated in so many instances and such cruel circumstances that he was sometimes burning with shame when he woke up. He also knew that it was meant to be him when he sometimes took on Coach Celestino’s appearance, or the appearance of strangers or random town folk or Yuuko or, on one memorable occasion, Makkachin.

His dream from the first night in Hasetsu had not repeated itself, thankfully, but there had been a few dreams that had Victor waking up burning for a whole other reason, dreams full of heat and searing touches and the sultry riff of On Love: Eros echoing in his mind. Sometimes he felt like he was intruding on something by experiencing these dreams, but it wasn’t like he had any control over whether or not he witnessed them. He couldn’t look away or tune out; he dreamed what his bond gave him.

Though there was a small voice at the back of his mind reminding him that if he actually told Yuuri that they were soulmates, if they—Victor was slowly allowing himself to pray for this possibility (he had been praying for this possibility from the start, but he was only allowing himself now)—actually got together, they might sleep in the same room. They might be able to each keep their dreams a private thing in their own minds.

But he couldn’t quite find the courage to be honest about it. Not yet, he told himself. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret forever. Once the season started at the latest, it would be more and more difficult to avoid sleeping in the same place. Even if they got separate hotel rooms at all their competitions, it would be selfish and irresponsible to keep Yuuri awake for the entirety of the flight to Moscow, for instance, not to mention that it would be downright impossible to come up with a plausible explanation as to why that would be necessary.

Nonetheless, Victor wanted to drag it out as long as he could. He knew he was being stupid about it, but he couldn’t help but think… with the slowly decreasing frequency of his nightmares, perhaps, just perhaps…

He wasn’t so naive to think that his presence could make Yuuri forget about his trauma entirely, or cure it even, he knew that wasn’t how it worked. Just because there was also other things that occupied Yuuri’s mind now did not mean that what he had experienced was any less significant. The undiminished intensity and brutality of the nightmares reminded him of that on the regular.

But still, he thought, the longer he waited, the less often Yuuri would have to experience those dreams. And if it was in Victor’s power to spare him that pain, then he would.

( _Even at the expense of your relationship?_ , a whispering voice at the back of his mind asked, _Even if he ends up hating you because you didn’t tell him all this time?_

Victor ignored that voice.)

He would tell him, he resolved. He would tell Yuuri once it became unavoidable that they would spend their nights in close proximity; at the start of the season. He could still make it seem like he had only recently put two and two together, after all. Yuuri didn’t have to know that Victor had been aware of their bond for months. Even the thought of that lie left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he tried to swallow around it.

* * *

In the end, of course, even Victor’s best laid plans were meaningless, because Katsuki Yuuri remained the most wildly unpredictable man on the planet.

Because Katsuki Yuuri kissed him.

It was a day toward the end of the summer as they were cooling down after practice. Yuuri just leaned in and kissed him, out of the blue.

Well, not completely out of the blue.

It would be a lie to say that things hadn’t been changing between them over the last few weeks. Simmering.

They were talking and laughing together easier than ever, training was a lot more fun than it was a chore, and as Yuuri relaxed around him, Victor discovered old familiar facets of his personality again. He made jokes, he played along when Victor teased him, he flirted back.

Victor also noticed that the way that Yuuri looked at him, long and steady and thoughtful, had changed. Yuuri had always looked at him long and steady and thoughtful, like Victor was a pretty poem that Yuuri was trying to unravel. But the confusion and awe that had tinted those looks in the first few weeks of his stay had gradually faded, had become unreadable for a long while, and had recently been suffused with something that Victor had chosen to liberally interpret as fondness.

In that sense it was not completely unexpected that things should shift between them, but the moment—it was not the grand romantic gesture Victor has always pictured their first kiss being, at sunset on the beach or rinkside after a big successful skate. It wasn’t even after working on Eros, which might have made more sense at least, since watching Yuuri run the program always left Victor riled up (and increasingly, Victor believed, also left Yuuri riled up).

No, they had been polishing Yuri on Ice all day, they were both sweaty and tired (though Victor was probably a bit more sweaty and tired, despite only being the coach, damn Yuuri’s stamina). Victor was chatting away on his bench, unlacing his skates, talking through Yuuri’s last run-through of the program. Most of it wasn’t even critique, really, just some remarks and observations. The program wasn’t perfect yet, but as the start of the season approached it was getting close—at least in practice. Yuuri, already out of his skates, stood next to him, stretching—his arms at first, to the sides and back over his shoulders, then his hamstrings, then folding himself in half, hugging his knees. All the while he gave a steady string of “hn”s to Victor’s commentary, never saying anything else but acknowledging every point Victor made.

Once Victor had wiped down his blades and slipped his soft guards over them, setting them aside, Yuuri straightened up to his full height, took a single step closer, leaned down, and kissed Victor, mid-sentence.

Victor lost track of all of his trains of thoughts at once.

It was not a hesitant, uncertain kiss, nor was it particularly passionate or deep. It was matter of fact, in a way, a firm, brief press of lips on lips, like one might open a door knowing exactly who was waiting on the other side.

It was perfect.

Victor forgot how to blink.

And for once there was no backpedaling from Yuuri, no frantically waving hands and stammered apologies, though there was a noticeable flush creeping into his cheeks.

A long few moments there was silence while Victor tried to kick his brain back into gear.

Then he opened his mouth, and what came out was “Okay then!”, and he pulled Yuuri back down for another kiss.

They kissed whenever they felt like it after that, although “whenever they felt like it” mostly extended to when they were alone at the rink and spending the evenings together in Victor’s or Yuuri’s room, since Yuuri did not seem very big on the PDA, quite in contrast to the banquet.

But Victor enjoyed every kiss he could get, enjoyed the fact that he could swoop in and kiss Yuuri whenever the fancy took him as long as they were alone, with nothing more than a good-natured scolding from Yuuri on occasion when Victor interrupted him in something he considered important. Though the things Yuuri considered important seemed to rather decrease in number as time went on; he was increasingly ready to drop everything to kiss Victor, which Victor could relate to, since he felt quite the same way about Yuuri.

Kissing Yuuri felt amazing.

It was different somehow from the other people Victor had kissed in his life. It had never felt like this, so intense, so electric—and not even in a sexual way. There was just something deeper between them as they touched, some kind of tension that made Victor shiver. He supposed that it came with the territory of kissing your soulmate.

They didn’t do much more than kiss at first. Sometimes they would cuddle on the couch or in bed, Yuuri leaning back against Victor’s chest, Victor’s arms wrapped around him or Victor’s head pillowed on Yuuri’s thighs, Yuuri’s fingers carding through his hair. But their kisses never led any further; Yuuri seemed content to take it slow, and the last thing Victor wanted to do was push him too far.

Besides, if they slept together it would be so much more difficult to avoid actually _sleeping_ together. So for now Victor had decreed that in order for Yuuri’s sleep schedule not to suffer, impacting his training, they would each sleep in their own rooms, even if they spent the evenings together, cuddling, talking, watching movies. It was a relief when Yuuri had assented without too much protest.

It became increasingly difficult, however, to keep up this rule of his, the longer they were… well, whatever they were. Not only because it was a feat of near exorbitant strength to extract himself from the warmth of Yuuri’s arms late at night in order to stumble over into his own room. But also because Yuuri seemed increasingly less inclined to let him go when the time came, the question seeming to sit in the centre of his lips every time, along with all the kisses he bestowed upon Victor’s mouth, his temple, his jaw. When they were in Victor’s room, Victor could feel the silent disappointment rolling off of him every time Victor told him it was time to head to bed. In the privacy of his own mind, he asked for forgiveness.

The day would come, he told himself, when he would tell Yuuri. When he would ask Yuuri to stay and explain everything to him and hope that Yuuri would still sleep by his side if he knew what Victor knew. He would tell him. When the moment was right. When it was time.

It was inevitable that the right moment was eventually tired of being put off.

It didn’t happen at a competition, not on an air plane or any of the other places Victor had worried he would not be able to keep Yuuri from falling asleep.

Victor had not anticipated it happening then and there, had let down his guard, had been inattentive.

He’d fallen asleep.

Had just fallen asleep on the couch in the Katsuki’s living room, the heavy warmth of Yuuri leaning against him and Makkachin sprawling across both of their legs mixing with the comfortable tiredness of a morning spent training thoroughly on the ice mixing with the fact that Victor still only understood half, at best, of whatever show was on the TV and lulling him into an unsuspecting doze before he even realised what was happening.

He’d fallen asleep and so, apparently, had Yuuri next to him.

Victor dreamed of two sets of blades circling on the ice, of his arms around Yuuri, spinning, twisting, lifting. His mind supplied the familiar notes of Stammi Vicino, measured and melancholy. The shared exhibition skate was a recent idea still, one that they were skirting around somewhat, playing around with bits and pieces of choreography, neither of them quite daring to commit. It had taken full hold of Victor’s mind, though; he could already see the entire thing play out before his eyes.

The music was building in his dream, and they moved along easily with it at first, following along with the steady crescendo of the opera piece. But then the tempo changed, too, became something more hurried and threatening, something wilder. The blades tried to keep step, but they were off kilter now, Yuuri’s skates, his rapid step sequences, following the building tempo easily, twirling around, while Victor bumbled on in the measured pace of Stammi Vicino, unable to keep up.

Before the dream could come to any kind of conclusion, it was interrupted, Victor being dragged out of his doze as Yuuri sat up with a wordless shout, the reassuring weight of his head disappearing from Victor’s shoulder, the comfortable warmth of his body from Victor’s side.

While Victor was still blinking, trying to rapidly find his way back into the waking world, Yuuri was already scrambling to the other end of the couch, a disgruntled Makkachin jumping off the cushions and trotting away with a disapproving huff. A constant low stream of “no no no no no no” was falling from Yuuri’s lips and his eyes were wide and scared and it took only a few seconds for Victor’s brain to catch up to what had happened.

“Yuuri… Oh, I’m so sorry”, he breathed, already reaching out instinctively to wrap him into a hug, though he couldn’t say he was surprised when Yuuri recoiled from him with another “no!” Yuuri was breathing hard, fists clenched hard into the fabric of his sweater and Victor’s heart cracked just looking at his expression—all wild and hunted, like something wounded, like he had looked at Sochi. Not at the banquet, before, on the ice, trying to skate Yann Tiersen like Vivaldi.

“I’m so sorry, darling”, Victor babbled on, unthinking, unable to watch his soulmate’s pain without apology. “It wasn’t meant to happen like this, I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I just fell asleep and I wasn’t paying attention and—”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped up to his, still wide and wild but no longer frantic, fixed now, a stare like a hunter’s. “What are you talking about?”

“I—well, I…”

“You knew this was going to happen?”

“I’m sorry, I know, I should have told you—”

“You…”, Yuuri let out a long, sharp breath before sucking it right back in, frantic, “you know what I—what I just dreamt?”

“I…” Victor was wringing his hands to keep himself from reading out again. “I mean, I have a pretty good idea. It’s, uh, it’s happened—”

“Ohmygod…”

Teeth digging into his lips, Yuuri stumbled off the couch on unsteady legs. “I have to go.”

“Please, Yuuri”, Victor said, also making to rise, “just let me—”

“No!”, Yuuri snapped, head whipping around to glare at Victor. “I’m leaving. Do not follow me.”

And he stormed off, leaving Victor dumbfounded, his brain still sleep-addled and hands shaking, to stare after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry!
> 
> **Chapter 4 posts Feb 16.**
> 
> Thanks for reading, leave a comment if you like! ❤


	4. the best of the best and the worst of the worst

It took a long while until Victor could shake off his stupor enough to actually move, and by then Yuuri was nowhere to be found.

Not that Victor really tried to find him right then. As much as everything in him wanted to seek Yuuri out and _explain_ , justify himself somehow, he wanted to respect Yuuri’s wishes. 

He would just have to let Yuuri be and hope that at some point he would return to Victor of his own accord, and that when he did, it was not just to throw Victor out of his home.

In the meantime he wandered aimlessly around the onsen, unable to stay still for too long. For a while Makkachin wandered along with him, nosing at him curiously, probably trying to coax him into a walk, but Victor did not want to leave now, did not want to risk not being here when Yuuri returned. So after a while Makkachin lost interest, slinking off somewhere, leaving Victor to roam the halls on his own like a forlorn ghost.

He came across all three of the Katsukis on his wanderings, and each of them separately enquired if he was alright—it seemed his misery was stamped right on his face. 

He gave them all half-hearted reassurances and tired smiles. He knew they would see right through it—they, too, had gotten to know him much better in the last few months than he had let anyone know him before he came to Hasetsu. But it didn’t seem right to talk about this with them, not before he had talked about it with Yuuri, not until it was all out in the open.

It was bad enough that Victor had kept this information to himself, but to air it out in front of others before he had a chance to speak to Yuuri about it just seemed so much worse.

So he let Mama Hiroko pat his arm comfortingly, declined a snack that Toshiya offered him, and attempted to help Mari with her chores for a little while in hopes of passing time, but he was too distracted, his thoughts constantly drifting off to wherever it was that Yuuri ran off to. 

He might just be in his room, for all Victor knew, but he might as well be a hundred miles away.

Mari finally shooed him off when he did more harm than good folding towels, and he set off again on his merry rounds with neither regret nor relief. 

It was well into the evening by the time the back entrance of the _onsen_ slid open and Yuuri stepped inside, dead silent. 

The only reason Victor heard it at all was that he had been listening out for the familiar sound of the door for hours now, ever since Mari going to fetch Yuuri for dinner had not found him in his room.

Victor had started to become nervous the longer Yuuri stayed away. He couldn’t help all the terrible scenarios playing in his mind’s eye, even though he knew Yuuri was likely just as Ice Castle or Minako’s studio, as he usually was when he needed to think. 

And there he was now, back home, and Victor couldn’t help his steps carrying him towards the back entrance right away, unable to contain his worry, his need to see Yuuri again and determine just where they stood. If Yuuri was okay. If Yuuri hated him now.

Stopping short at the _genkan_ , Victor was confronted with a pale, wide-eyed Yuuri slipping out of his shoes, lips pressed together into a firm line. But he met Victor’s eyes steadily once he straightened up.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“I suppose we should talk”, Yuuri said.

Victor nodded quietly, heart heavy.

“Come on.”

Yuuri brushed past him, not avoiding him but not touching him either, and Victor swallowed and followed in his footsteps, through the _onsen_ and into Yuuri’s room, where Yuuri let him step inside first and then closed the door firmly behind them. 

“Sit”, he said, gesturing vaguely, while he went to the desk, rummaging around for something in a drawer.

Hesitating for a moment, Victor gingerly sat down at the edge of the bed. It had started to become so normal recently, to be in Yuuri’s bed, cuddling or watching a movie or just hanging out while Yuuri played video games. Now he felt like he was intruding, but the only other seat in the room was the desk chair, which Yuuri was currently standing in front of. 

Finally it appeared Yuuri had found what he’d been looking for, and turned around. After a moment’s hesitation he stepped closer and sat on the bed as well, though at the opposite end, tucking himself into the corner and pulling his legs close to his body.

Victor twisted his hands in his lap, staring down at them, and Yuuri, too, seemed to be fidgeting with something in his hand.

Victor didn’t know where to start. He wanted to apologise again, but he feared that if he did, he would once again dissolve into a mess of incoherent justifications. So he waited.

He could hear Yuuri take deep, measured breaths, could see him opening his mouth several times, and closing it again.

Finally he clenched his fist hard around whatever was in his hand, and spoke.

“So we’re soulmates.”

“Yeah”, Victor whispered, the single syllable almost sticking in his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Yuuri shook his head, short and sharp. “How long?”

Victor’s fingernails dug painfully in his palm. “I… I’ve known since I first came here. That first day, when—”

“No”, Yuuri interrupted him. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

Victor looked up. 

Licking his lips, Yuuri took a deep breath. “How long… have you had that dream?”

“Oh, ah….” Victor hesitated, but he knew there was no point in trying to deny it. “Since… Worlds 2011.”

Yuuri closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, like a grimace of pain.

“How often?”

Victor sighed. “Almost every night at first. Recently it’s been down to a few times a week. Sometimes less.”

“Oh God….” With a pained noise, Yuuri buried his head in his arms. “That’s so humiliating.” He drew in a few breaths, amplified between the folds of his clothes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wha—Yuuri! You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, I—”

Yuuri’s head snapped up, looking at Victor, pale and miserable. “But I made you see that all this time!”

“You didn’t _make me_ do anything, Yuuri”, Victor said, scooting a little further up the bed. He didn’t want to get too close to Yuuri, didn’t want to push too far, but he couldn’t quite suppress his instinct to reach out and comfort. “You can’t control your dreams, you know that. You didn’t choose this.”

“But it’s still because of me that—”

“Yuuri, no!”, Victor interrupted him, “I don’t even want to hear you finish that sentence. _None of this_ is your fault, okay? Not even the dreams.”

“I’m…. I—…”, looking down again now, Yuuri fidgeted with the object in his hand, turning it over and over, eyes fixed on it. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”

“Expect what?”, Victor asked, trying to tamp down the fear rising in his chest that this was all too much; that Yuuri would send him away after all. 

“The… the nightmare”, Yuuri said, “I thought… this was over.”

“Oh.” Victor could think of nothing else to say. After all, what could you possibly say in a situation like that? _Sorry you’re still dreaming about being raped_? You would have thought that in all these years or at least the last months, Victor would have looked up how to talk to an abuse survivor about what happened to them. Though he suspected nothing he could have found on the entire internet would have prepared him for this conversation.

“Is that why you didn’t talk to me? About being soulmates, I mean?”, Yuuri was asking now, and the familiar guilt rose up in Victor’s chest again. 

“Uhm. Yeah. I didn’t exactly know how to bring it up and… well, I didn’t want you to have to experience that. It must be so much worse for you than it is for me.”

Yuuri’s expression darkened into a scowl, but he didn’t say anything. For a long time he just stared at his fingers, at the object he was holding, which seemed to be a kind of key chain, with a charm made from some bendable material that he was twisting and turning over and over in his hands. 

“I thought…”, he finally said, voice barely more than a whisper, “All this time I thought it was because you don’t want to be my soulmate.”

“Yuuri!”, Victor exclaimed, straightening up, “Of course I—wait, hold on. Hold on. You _knew_?”

Yuuri looked up, his expression lightening a bit in surprise. “Of course I knew.”

“How?”

Yuuri huffed a laugh at this, and though there wasn’t much humour in it, it was still a laugh, and Victor felt something in him loosen.

“Victor, I have been dreaming of nothing but myself for _months_ now.”

And just like that Katsuki Yuuri managed to leave Victor speechless one more time. He could just stare, feeling the heat of a blush rising to his face. He really shouldn’t be surprised by this. Yuuri had been the only thing on his mind for a long time. But still it was a different thing to hear it like that. To know that Yuuri had had a front row seat to Victor’s terrible infatuation.

And yet Yuuri was still here. 

And yet Yuuri had still chosen to kiss him. 

“Wait”, Victor said what must be at least a full minute later, by the time the words had fully—or at least mostly—processed. “Then… how did you possibly still think that I don’t want to be your soulmate?”

Yuuri shrugged. “Well, you never said anything.”

“Neither did you!”

“Yeah, well, I thought you didn’t want to be my soulmate, so…”

Victor shook his head. “I feel like we’re going in circles.”

Yuuri huffed again. “Welcome to my mind.”

“But—Yuuri!” Victor couldn’t help himself now, he reached a hand out toward Yuuri, not touching, just in offering, hoping that Yuuri would reach back. Which Yuuri—to his endless relief—did, lacing their hands together hesitantly. “ _Solnishko_. Of course I want you. You have no idea—I have been in love with you since… well. Longer than I would like to admit. Please believe that I feel privileged to have you as my soulmate. I just….”

He cast his eyes down, looking at their linked fingers because he couldn’t quite look Yuuri in the eyes when admitting this.

“I didn’t know how to deal with…”, he gestured vaguely with his free hand, “everything.”

Yuuri’s hand twitched in his at the reminder, and Victor almost wished he hadn’t brought it up. But he knew it was unavoidable that they discussed this. 

“Yeah…”, Yuuri said, voice sounding a little hoarse now, “I understand. You… you said you figured it out when you came to Hasetsu?”

“Mh. That first day, when I fell asleep in the dining room, remember? You were in the room and…”

“Oh.”

Victor looked up at Yuuri’s surprised tone, seeing a slight flush creeping over his cheeks. 

“What is it?”

Yuuri squirmed a little in his corner of the bed. “Well, I just…”, he said slowly, “I always somehow thought you were just. Pretending to be sleeping back then.”

It was so absurd that it made a laugh fall from Victor’s lips.

“Why would you think that?”

Yuuri shrugged. “Well, no one who is actually asleep looks that—”, he interrupted himself, blush deepening. “I mean, I figured maybe you wanted to hear what we were saying about you.”

“You were speaking Japanese.”

“Well, yes, but…”

“And what _were_ you saying about me, Yuuuri?”

“Victor, stop”, Yuuri said, but his protests sounded weak. There was even something like a smile on his face. “This is serious.”

“Alright, alright”, Victor said, schooling his own face into a neutral expression once more, but not before pulling Yuuri’s hand towards his lips and, when Yuuri did not resist, placing a kiss on its knuckles. “So I found out when I came to Hasetsu. Why do you ask?”

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders and his head down, so that his face almost completely disappeared behind his knees. 

“I don’t know, I just…”, he cleared his throat, “I figured I must have been really obvious. I always thought… I always thought I must be dreaming of you all the time.”

“Ah.” The last traces of Victor’s smile faded. “No. Well. I did encounter myself in my dreams on occasion. But not, uh… not as a rule. Not in the last six years, anyway.”

Yuuri nodded, subdued, eyes fixed on his knees now and fingers still playing with that key chain. 

Silence hung in the air between them for a couple of minutes, until Victor decided to tear it down.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head quickly. “No”, he whispered.

“Alright”, Victor said, giving Yuuri’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to, of course. But if you ever want to, I’m here. After all, I already know the… uhm, the gist of it. Might make it easier.”

Victor could see Yuuri’s throat moving as he swallowed. “Thank you. But… I just really want to forget about it right now. Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s okay”, Victor said. “I’ll be right by your side either way.”

“Good. Good.” The corners of Yuuri’s lips curled up the tiniest bit. “Because I really… I just want to be happy right now.”

The word made Victor stumble for a moment, so unexpected in between all the thoughts on his mind. “Happy?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri closed his eyes for a long moment, before looking up at him, the smallest hint of a question in his gaze. “Because I… I mean, we…”

Swallowing again, he didn’t seem to know quite how to finish the sentence, but it was enough to make Victor’s worries and fears fall away for a moment and leave only untamed, shining brightness behind.

“Because we’re _soulmates_ ”, he breathed, and Yuuri nodded.

“Yes”, he said, his voice just as soft as Victor’s own. “We are.”

Slowly, Yuuri lifted Victor’s hand in his own to his mouth, and the kiss he placed on his knuckles was so careful that it made Victor want to tear up.

“So… we’re okay?”, Victor asked, trying his best to keep a tremble out of his voice.

“Okay?”, Yuuri asked, brow furrowing in question.

“I mean”, Victor clarified, “because I didn’t tell you and all…”

“Vitya!” Yuuri actually laughed, short and breathless but the sound was like honey on Victor’s tongue. “Of course we’re okay. I didn’t tell you either even though I knew, I’m certainly not going to be mad at you for that.”

“Well, no. But it’s not quite the same, is it?”, Victor mumbled.

“We’re _okay_!”, Yuuri repeated, “Really, Vitya, all this other stuff aside, I’m—…” He broke off with a sigh, struggling with his words for a few moments before he simply closed his eyes and pitched his head forward until his forehead rested gently against Victor’s shoulder, still holding on firmly to Victor’s hand. Victor waited for a few moments, but Yuuri didn’t seem to want to say anything else. Victor was fairly certain he understood him anyway.

Carefully, Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri, pulling him closer when Yuuri settled into him rather than moving away. The warmth of his body and the gentle breeze of his breath calmed something in Victor that had been in turmoil ever since they had both woken up from their respective naps.

“At least now you know why I’ve been insisting that we sleep apart”, he murmured into Yuuri’s hair, and Yuuri hummed, a soft sound. “I suppose we should keep that up. After all, you should get good rest, with the new season coming up…”

“What? No!” Yuuri said, his head snapping up. “There’s no need for that!”

Victor raised his eyebrows at the reaction and colour rose quickly into Yuuri’s face.

“I just—I mean…” He cleared his throat, pulling up his shoulders, but keeping his eyes fixed on Victor’s face. “I don’t want this to stand between us. I don’t want to be deprived of sleeping next to you, or… or taking naps together or anything because of this. We’re soulmates. I want us to be…”

Victor blinked, his heart racing. “To be… what, Yuuri?”

Yuuri tore his eyes away now, casting it nervously about the room. “Just… anything”, he murmured, “whatever you want.”

“Yuuri…” Victor moved his hand from Yuuri’s back, bringing it up to gently touch his cheek. “Tell me? Please?”

Yuuri closed his eyes with a sigh, not opening them again this time. “I want us to be… together”, he said slowly, as if every word was a struggle. “Whatever that means. I wanted… I mean, I’d always… hoped. Just. Together.”

“I’d like that”, Victor said, sure his smile must be audible to Yuuri even though he still wasn’t looking. “But I don’t want to ask too much of you. I don’t want to push too far.”

Yuuri shook his head. “You won’t. You’re not! I’d tell you if you did.”

“Promise?”

“… Promise.”

Running his thumb across Yuuri’s cheek, Victor hummed. “And the dreams?”

Yuuri wrinkled his nose and opened his eyes once more. 

“It’s nothing”, he said, “Today just took me by surprise, is all. It’s not gonna be a problem.”

Victor regarded him, considering. “If you’re sure”, he said eventually, “but if there’s ever anything you need me to do or not—”

He was cut off by Yuuri’s lips on his, kissing him deeply, and it wasn’t long until he forgot how he was even going to end that sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter 5 posts on Mar 2!**
> 
> Thanks for reading, leave a comment if you like! ❤


	5. though I know i should know better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a difficult one, so brace yourselves.

The first time Victor is woken up at night by Yuuri having a nightmare is not unexpected, but Victor isn‘t any more prepared than he had been.

It‘s only been two days since the revelation, and according to Yuuri‘s wishes they haven‘t talked about it any more since. Victor has no idea what to do.

They are curled up in Victor‘s bed, since it offers more space for the two of them, and Makkachin of course. When they had fallen asleep, they had been nestled against each other, sharing their breaths, legs entangled, but in the course of the night Victor had sprawled out on his back while Yuuri had rolled over onto his stomach, face smushed into the pillow, as he often did. 

When Victor was woken up by a choked gasp and a strangled cry of „ _Yamete_!“, he shot up in bed and quickly flipped the switch on the closest lamp by his bed, heart pounding and aching but ready to offer whatever comfort Yuuri may need.

Except when he turned to Yuuri, his reassurances died on his lips when he saw that Yuuri had not moved—he was lying down still, what was visible of his face twisted into a grimace and hands fisted into a sheet but his eyes closed. He was still sleeping. 

His jaw was working, clenching his teeth, and before Victor could decide if he should try to rouse him, Yuuri flinched, something like a sob falling from his lips.

„ _Ya—… iie! Suwaranaide!_ “

Victor had learned enough Japanese during his months in Hasetsu that the words made tears spring into his eyes, startling him out of his paralysis. 

„Yuuri!“, he called, scrambling onto his knees, and when Yuuri did not react to his voice he whispered an apology under his breath and reached out to shake him by the shoulder. „You have to wake up, Yuuri! It‘s just a dream.“

„No!“, Yuuri choked out again, flinching away from Victor‘s touch, „Don‘t. Don‘t!“

Biting his lip against his own sob, Victor gripped him firmer, shook him a little harder. „I‘m sorry, Yuuri. Please. Wake up.“

Yuuri‘s eyes flew open then and he pushed himself up to scramble away from Victor‘s touch until he reached the edge of the bed and further, tumbling off the mattress and coming to stand on shaky feet.

„Get away“, he gasped, „get away from me“, and he stared at Victor, eyes wide and wild, but glassy and Victor wasn‘t really sure he really saw him.

„It was just a dream, Yuuri“, Victor said, begged almost, trying to keep his voice calm, soothing, but it was breaking under the strain. „It‘s okay. You‘re safe. Please.“

He reached out a tentative hand towards him, though the was too much distance between them to touch, leaving it up to Yuuri whether he wanted to close it or not.

„It‘s Victor“, he continued, softly. „You‘re in Hasetsu. In your family‘s home. You‘re safe.“

But Yuuri was pressed back against the wall of the banquet room now, his breaths coming in sharp pants, arms curled around his midsection as if to protect himself, or hold himself together.

Victor was shaking, still kneeling up on the bed. He willed himself to remain there, even though his every instinct was screaming at him to go to Yuuri, pull him into his arms, hold him close until that expression of terror vanished from himself. But he knew, he knew that it would do more harm than good, and, taking a deep breath, he stayed still, focusing on his words instead.

„I need you to look at me, Yuuri. Please look at me. See me. It‘s Vitya. Your soulmate. I won‘t hurt you. You‘re safe here.“

Yuuri shook his head quickly, whether in response to Victor‘s words or something else altogether, Victor couldn‘t tell. Then he doubled over, sliding down along the wall until he was curled up, head tucked between his knees and breaths rasping hard and fast out of his throat.

Victor was still frozen in his paralysis, but Makkachin had no such reservations, jumping off the bed and approaching Yuuri with a low distressed whine, nuzzling at his knee.

Yuuri jumped under the touch, though he didn‘t recoil further when he realised that it was Makkachin who had approached him, and after a moment he even untucked one of his arms curled close around him and reached out to bury his hands in Makka‘s fur.

Makka pushed up into his touch, begging for scratches, but Yuuri just held firm, steadying himself against the poodle.

Victor took what felt like the first real breath since he had woken up, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart, and after a few long moments he spoke again.

„Are you with me, Yuuri?“

His voice sounded faint in his own ears, defeated almost.

Yuuri‘s breath was still wheezing, but he rasped out: „Yeah. Yeah, I am.“

He kept his head tucked down so Victor couldn‘t see his expression, but his fingers were gently moving through Makkachin‘s fur now, her tail wagging hesitantly as she tried to lick at Yuuri‘s hand without stopping him from petting her.

„I—…“, Victor swallowed, trying to sort through everything running through his mind, holding on to the most pressing thought. „Can I touch you? Can I hold you?“

Yuuri didn‘t reply right away, but he took a deep breath and pushed himself back up to his feet. Victor could see his knees shaking as he approached the bed, and his shoulders were curled down, his eyes flitting away from Victor‘s, but there was no hesitation as he knelt up on the bed and leaned into Victor, curling his arms tight around him and burying his face in his shoulder.

Victor took the cue to wrap his own arms around Yuuri, holding him close. He could feel him trembling, his breaths shuddering against Victor’s collarbone.

“It’s okay”, Victor murmured to him, “You’re safe. It was just a dream. You’re okay.”

He kept whispering soothing words to him, rubbing circles into Yuuri’s back, until Yuuri’s shaking was starting to subside, until his breath was coming more evenly. Yuuri sniffed, his iron grip around Victor softening somewhat, though he did not pull away.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered into the hollow of Victor’s throat. “I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean—… I just—”

“Shh, you have nothing to apologise for, Yuuri”, Victor interrupted him. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Yuuri nodded silently and leaned into him, and Victor gently guided them to lay back down on the bed, curled up in each other. Pulling the blanket back over the both of them, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head.

“Try to sleep”, he said, “I’m right here. I’ll keep you safe.”

Yuuri said nothing more, so Victor focused on the sound of his breathing, waiting for them to even out into something deeper until he slipped back into sleep himself.

* * *

Of course, it wouldn’t remain the only time.

Yuuri kept waking from nightmares, sometimes being jerked awake with a shout, sometimes with nothing but a quiet gasp and a shudder that Victor only registered because even asleep he was attuned to every sound and movement of Yuuri next to him.

Sometimes Victor wouldn’t wake at all, just finding the bed next to him empty and cold when he rose out of his sleep hours later, Yuuri having slipped away quietly in the night.

Sometimes it was Yuuri who wouldn’t wake up, writhing and whimpering or shouting in his sleep, leaving Victor torn between letting the dream run its course or shaking Yuuri awake and leaving him disoriented and terrified again. He tried to ask Yuuri about what he should do in these, but it was impossible to get a straight answer out of him.

In general Yuuri all but refused to talk about or even acknowledge the dreams during the day, in spite of the fact that they were clearly affecting him. They seemed to appear much more frequently than Victor had last experienced them, which made sense considering the events had been forcibly brought back to the forefront of Yuuri’s mind, and Victor could see Yuuri fraying under the strain of them. He was anxious and irritated and clearly tired, but he wouldn’t hear of Victor’s suggestion that it might be better for them to sleep apart.

“Absolutely not”, he said, “I won’t let them take this from me. I won’t let them take you from me. I want to sleep next to you. I want to wake up next to you.”

The simple earnestness of his words made Victor ache with affection, and he was powerless to argue.

Nonetheless the situation was untenable, and it had always been a matter of time until things came to a head.

* * *

Summer was undoubtedly ending, and the beginning of the season rapidly approaching. 

Victor and Yuuri spent more time than ever at the rink, trying to perfect Yuuri’s programs in time for the regional qualifier.

This, at least, was still effortless between them: the easy dynamic they had fallen into on the ice once the initial awkwardness had dissolved, leaving them attuned to each other’s movements and needs. 

Sometimes Victor wondered how much of this balance was due to their soulmate bond and how much of it was just them, just their personalities meshing well together, Victor’s blunt critiques and effusive praises fuelling the high expectations Yuuri always had of himself. It didn’t matter to him, either—regardless of the reason, Victor enjoyed every second of it. He barely remembered when he’d last had so much fun on the ice.

Even on the days when Yuuri was tense and jumpy from his nightmares, it seemed to all fall away once he set his blades on the ice, leaving only a sharp focus in its wake.

And then there was _On Love: Eros_.

Victor had created the choreography with Yuuri in mind before he came to Hasetsu, lost in memories of their shared dances at the Sochi banquet, but he hadn’t yet known then that Yuuri was his soulmate. Hadn’t known yet what lay in Yuuri’s past.

He had been hesitant to give this program to him then, he had to admit, but he couldn’t exactly make himself give such an openly sexual program to young Yuri, either. Besides, he knew that the program was perfectly catered to Yuuri’s abilities, the technical elements and expressive choreography emphasising his strengths and allowing him to maximise his points in a way that _Agape_ could not achieve. 

And despite Victor’s initial reservations and Yuuri’s starting difficulties, Yuuri took to the program beautifully after Onsen on Ice, making the routine his own with an intense appeal that Victor could never have foreseen.

It was starting to become a problem.

Well, that entirely depended on what your definition of a problem was, Victor thought when he found himself pushed up against a locker after practice, not for the first time, hand tangled desperately in Yuuri’s hair and being kissed absolutely breathless.

They often ended up here after practising Eros, both of them riled up from the intensity of the program, from the satisfaction of a good practice, from the tension thrumming between the two of them for hours on end. And no matter how carefully Victor tried to angle his hips away from Yuuri, it was hopeless trying to conceal how desperate he was when Yuuri pressed himself right up against him, slotting their hips together, the evidence of his own arousal more than obvious against Victor. 

“Yuuri”, Victor gasped in between kisses, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away, and Yuuri gave a low hum in response that sent a shiver down Victor’s spine. “Wait. Wait.”

Yuuri pulled away then, just far enough to be able to look at him, breathing heavily and peering at him with undisguised want in his eyes. “What is it, Vitya?”

Victor took a few moments and a few deep breaths, trying to collect himself before he spoke again. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Oh.” Yuuri deflated and pulled further away, severing all point of contact, leaving Victor feeling cold immediately. “You don’t want to. Of course, of course we don’t have—”

“No, Yuuri”, Victor hurried to interrupt him, grabbing hold of one of Yuuri’s hands still in his practice gloves and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to.”

A crease of concern appeared between Yuuri’s eyebrows. “Then what is it?”

“I just think”, Victor began, and let out a deep sigh, “I think we should take it slow. With everything that happened… I don’t want to push you.”

Yuuri shook his head, disbelieving. “But—you’re not! I want this. Vitya, I want you.”

Victor gave Yuuri’s hand another squeeze before letting go of it. “You’re riled up from practice, emotions are running high… I just don’t want you to do anything you might regret later. I think we should both cool down.” He tried giving Yuuri a hesitant smile. “Go, take a shower, get changed. We’ll talk more later.”

“Fine”, Yuuri said, something shuttered settling over his expression before he walked away.

Talking was not what they ended up doing.

After finishing up their day of practice, they headed back to Yu-topia to have a comfortable dinner with Yuuri’s family, the tension between them slowly dissipating between the idle chatter, the delicious food, the easygoing jokes. They took a quick dip in the onsen and retreated back to Victor’s room after, settling down together on the bed, a movie running on Yuuri’s laptop. 

Victor shouldn’t have been surprised when they ended up wrapped up in each other, making out lazily instead of focusing on the film. He couldn’t even say which of them had initiated it, or if their lips had just found their way to each other like magnets drawn together, but there wasn’t the same urgent heat to it that there had been this afternoon. Instead, anticipation simmered lowly between them, being stoked slowly but never quite coming to a boil.

Yuuri’s body felt solid and warm under his hands, heat sparking where his fingertips touched bare skin, and Yuuri’s hands had slipped under his shirt, a steady, grounding presence on his waist.

It took all of Victor’s self-control to pull away from him with a soft sigh.

“We should probably try to get some sleep…”

“I’m not tired”, was Yuuri’s murmured reply as he pressed another soft kiss to Victor’s lips. Victor’s eyes drifted shut out of their own volition and Victor allowed himself to get lost in the push and pull of their mouths and tongues for a little longer before pulling away again.

“It’s getting late.”

With a sigh that fluttered against Victor’s cheek, Yuuri rolled over onto his back, away from Victor. “Okay”, he said, drawing in slow lungfuls of air to even out his quickened breathing, “okay.”

Silence settled between them for a while after that, Victor reaching out to hesitantly tangle their fingers together between them, even as he tried to will down the heat clawing at his own body.

Victor almost thought that Yuuri had already fallen asleep when his hesitant words floated out between them.

„Victor… can I ask you something?“

„Of course“, Victor said, turning his head to look at Yuuri, watching him pull his bottom lip between his teeth. „Anything.“

Yuuri released his lip after more long moments of silence, even redder now than it had already been from kissing. 

„Are you not attracted to me?“

Victor almost laughed—seeing Yuuri lying next to him, hair mussed, a flush on his cheeks, lips kiss-bitten, the curve of his chest rising and falling like a wave cresting, the very picture of beauty. 

„Yuuri—of course I am!“

A small crease appeared on Yuuri‘s forehead—not exactly the reaction Victor would have expected—and his eyes flickered toward him hesitantly.

„Then, uhm… how do I—…? I guess, ah…“, Yuuri turned his head now, too, looking at Victor, a frown painted on his face. „Are… are you okay?“

Victor blinked in surprise. 

„Of course, Yuuri. I‘m perfect. Why wouldn‘t I be?“

Yuuri‘s frown just deepened.

„I guess I just wondered—well, after all these years, you know, I wouldn‘t be surprised if they were affecting you“, he said, words falling from his lips in a rapid flow. „Of course I hope that that‘s not—I just. I would hate to have been the cause of that. To have been hurting you all these years, even if it was out of my control. I would hate that. So I guess I‘m just… just hoping that you‘re okay, and—“

„Yuuri, Yuuri, stop!“, Victor interrupted him. „You‘re rambling. What the hell are you even talking about?“

„I—“, Yuuri blinked, „Uhm. The nightmares, of course.“

„The nightmares?“, Victor repeated slowly, letting Yuuri‘s words pass back through his mind. „Wait… you think _I‘m_ traumatised by your nightmares?“

Yuuri squirmed uncomfortably next to him. 

„Well, you‘ve been living through them for so long, and I thought maybe… you‘re not then?“

„No, no, of course not“, Victor said with a helpless laugh. „I mean, they‘re not pleasant by any means, but… they‘ve never been, let‘s say, very close to me. Very personal.“

„Then…“ 

Yuuri lapsed into silence again for a long minute, and Victor regarded him, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

When Yuuri spoke again, his voice was barely audible.

„… why won‘t you sleep with me?“

He squeezed his eyes shut right after the words left his mouth, like he couldn‘t quite believe he had said them—or perhaps he didn‘t want to see Victor‘s reaction written on his face.

„Oh… oh, Yuuri“, Victor whispered, squeezing Yuuri‘s hand tightly in his own. „I told you. I just don‘t want to push you too far.“

Opening his eyes, the confused frown returned to Yuuri‘s face. 

„But… you‘re not? I told you, I want this.“

„I know, love, I just… I feel like you might need more time? It‘s okay to take it slow. We have time.“

Yuuri huffed out a breath of laughter that sounded entirely devoid of humour, making Victor‘s stomach squeeze painfully.

„You feel like I might need more time?“

His voice sounded hollow.

Victor nodded, wordless.

„And why is that for you to decide?“

„Yuuri?“

Yuuri sat up on the bed then, letting go of Victor‘s hand and leaving him to look at the back of his head.

„Have you considered actually asking me about that? About what I want?“

„I just—“, Victor swallowed, trying to work past the lump suddenly sitting in his throat. „I just figured, with all the nightmares you‘re still having…“

Yuuri scoffed, and Victor hurried on. 

„I know you may feel like you‘re doing well, but I don‘t want you pushing yourself before you‘re truly ready. I don‘t want you to end up regretting this. I don‘t want to have a part in hurting you further.“

„I can‘t believe you, Victor.“ Turning his head, Yuuri shot a glare at him over his shoulder. „This is not for you to decide. This is not your choice.“

„I‘m just worried about you“, Victor said, pushing himself up to sit as well, trying to catch Yuuri‘s eyes. „It just seems like you‘re not really…“

„No“, Yuuri snapped, cutting him off, „fuck your justifications. Listen to me. You do not get to decide whether I want to have sex or not, _do you understand_

_„Oh.“ Victor could feel his mouth drop open, a hot hand squeezing like a vice around his heart. „Oh Yuuri, I‘m so sorry.“_

__

__

Victor could see Yuuri‘s jaw working, his fists clenching in the fabric of his sweatpants before he half-turned toward Victor. 

„You need to—you need to stop thinking you know what‘s best for me. Because you don‘t. Just because you‘ve seen my dreams doesn‘t mean you know anything. It‘s been six years, Victor! Do you think I haven‘t dated in all that time, do you think I haven‘t been with anyone?“

Victor‘s eyes widened, and Yuuri rolled his eyes.

„Oh, does that surprise you? Did you think I‘d be some trembling virgin, just waiting for my soulmate to patiently teach me how to let someone touch me again?“

The sharpness of Yuuri‘s tone made Victor wince.

„Yuuri—I don‘t think you‘re being fair—…“

„No, you know what‘s not fair? I‘ve done my time dealing with this—I‘ve figured out my boundaries and I‘ve made my choice and I am comfortable with my sexuality… and now you think you can take this away from me again?“

„You know that‘s not what I was trying to do, Yuuri“, Victor cut in, „But you won‘t talk about it, and I‘m just trying to do right by you and your dreams are all I have to go by!“

„Exactly.“

Yuuri was breathing heavily, agitated, but his voice was calm now.

„All you know is my dreams, and somehow you‘ve decided on this… this image of me in your mind. That I‘m a victim. You‘ve made your assumptions about what I must be like based on what happened to me, and you never even bothered to find out if those assumptions are true.“

„Yuuri…“, Victor reached out hesitantly, curling his hand around Yuuri‘s arm when he didn‘t move away, brushing his thumb along the soft skin there. „That‘s not true. I know—I‘ve always known that you‘re so much more than what happened to you. And every day I find out something more about you that I love, every day—“

„Then why are you still looking at me like that?“, Yuuri snapped, his tone sharp but his voice choked with tears now.

Victor shook his head, helpless. „Like… like what?“

„You keep looking at me like I‘m _broken_!“

Victor sucked in a sharp breath.

„You‘re not, Yuuri, I know that you‘re not. Please, believe me.“

Yuuri let out a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes, tears clinging to his lashes.

„Then don‘t treat me like I am“, he said, „Trust me to know what I need. Don‘t make that decision for me.“

„Of course.“ Victor gave his arm a gentle squeeze. „I‘m sorry. You‘re right, you know your own mind best. If you say that you‘re ready then I should trust that. It‘s just…“

Victor bit his lip under the doubtful glance that Yuuri slanted at him. 

„It‘s just that… since you won‘t talk about it, I sometimes worry that you‘re just pushing this away rather than processing it. But I should have talked to you, voiced my concerns rather than make assumptions.“

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders, lips tilting down into a slight pout.

„I just don‘t see the point in talking about it. It‘s over. It‘s in the past. Talking about it is not going to change anything.“

“Alright…”, Victor said slowly, “If that’s how you feel about it, then of course I won’t push you. As long as you don’t feel like you have to hide it from me, or pretend like you’re okay if you’re really not.”

Yuuri chewed on his lower lip, contemplative, before nodding. “That’s fair”, he said, “I need to trust you, too. If there’s ever something I’m uncomfortable with, I will tell you. I promise.”

“Thank you”, Victor whispered, leaning forward to breathe a kiss on Yuuri’s bicep, just above where his hand was still lightly curled around his arm. “And I’m really sorry if I made you feel like I was taking the decision away from you. That’s the opposite of what I wanted to do.”

“I know”, Yuuri replied with a sigh, “You were just trying to look out for me.”

Victor hummed an affirmative. “I would be thrilled to take that step with you whenever you want, Yuuri. But perhaps for tonight it would be best just to go to sleep?”

“Yes. Yes.” Yuuri ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m tired, too. Let’s just go to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

And with that, he let himself be pulled back into the sheets, Victor drawing the blankets over both of them as they curled up together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the somewhat abrupt ending, this chapter got a little long so I had to cut it somewhere.
> 
>   
> **Japanese Translations:**
> 
>  _Yamete_ \- Stop.
> 
>  _Iie_ \- No.
> 
>  _Suwaranaide_ \- Don't touch me.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you've enjoyed it, and if you disagree with my characterisation/storytelling choices, please be respectful about it. There is no one way to deal with trauma, and whether they will admit it or not, both of these boys have been through a lot of that, and they each have their coping mechanisms.
> 
>   
> **Next chapter posts on March 16!**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, consider leaving a comment! 🥰
> 
> Work title and chapter titles from [Big God by Florence + the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kIrRooQwuk&list=PLuQADSCNGNrWEs0zfAHoLEKn7BbHyiGeD&index=7).
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/nihidea_art) and [tumblr](http://theliteraryluggage.tumblr.com/), and I also have a [discord server](https://discord.gg/Qfwp9XMTPg).  
> If you want Early Access to all my Angst Week Fics, I'm sure you know where to find it 💜💜💜


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